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This morning, thousands of teachers are walking into classrooms across the country, trying to show up for their students after a national crisis. A crisis within a crisis, really, as that “walk into the classroom” might look like logging onto Zoom. How do we show up for our kids when we feel shattered, too? How can we help others feel safe when we feel unsafe?

In my teaching career, there have been so many “mornings after the crisis.” National tragedies and personal ones, deaths of my students’ family members and friends, images on the news of horror far away or close to home. I want to share some of what I’ve learned, from a trauma-informed perspective, but let me first say this: there is no “right way” to do this. What I’m offering here, I’m offering with love and solidarity for teachers, and I hope you can use it. Don’t miss my last paragraph, but spoiler alert: you are enough, and just showing up for your kids is enough.

Check in with yourself.

How are you feeling? What support have you gotten around your own emotional response to the crisis? Slow down. This often feels impossible, especially since crises tend to make everything feel like an emergency. Take a moment to unpack the urgency you may be feeling. What is likely urgent: helping your students feel safe and supported. What is likely not urgent: unpacking the complex dynamics that led to the crisis. For example, the day after a terrorist attack, it might feel urgent to help students understand the global forces that lead to terrorism, or the danger of jinoistic responses. Those things are absolutely important, but they were important long before the crisis and they will remain important. What is actually urgent is showing up for your students with care.

Key actions:

• Disconnect from the news and social media and take a moment to journal, talk to a friend, or move your body. Step away from information about the crisis so you can notice how you feel.
• Collaborate with others. It’s a manifestation of savior mentality when we try to take on everything ourselves. Check in with your coworkers, school counselors, and others to plan for the day. 
• Reach out to your own support networks. The day after a crisis may be a sprint, but this is just one day in the marathon of teaching. Don’t be afraid to let others know you need support.

Don’t rush to intellectualize.

The day after a student’s parent dies would be an inappropriate time to start a unit on death and dying customs in different cultures. You probably already know that, but sometimes we jump to do that same intellectualizing of current events without slowing down to consider their emotional impact. If you started a debate unit on gun control the day after a high profile school shooting, for example, you could be doing harm by forcing students to engage in academic activities about an event they haven’t processed emotionally yet. Put more simply, if students feel unsafe, anxious, or unsettled, they need to process and connect, not to watch a TED talk and write a position paper.

Key actions:

• If your mind is spinning with curricular connections, write them down! These will be helpful later on, so capture your thinking, but then set it aside.
• Resist directives to stick to your scripted curriculum or ignore what has happened. Your students are watching you to learn whether it’s okay to be human, or whether they must shove down their emotions to “do school.” 

Validate and offer choices for support.

When we see young people hurting and scared, we can feel the need to fix their emotions or offer solutions. Most of the time when people are hurting, they simply need to be witnessed. This video on supporting a grieving friend offers some helpful language around acknowledgement. Additionally, some students may not want to process in public, or may want to continue their routine for the day, or use distraction as a coping mechanism. Offer choices so that students can reflect on what they need and feel supported in getting those needs met. 

Key actions:

• To center student autonomy, offer choices. This strategy by Jane Martin offered options for virtual students to choose breakout rooms to process, focus on their work, or simply take space. You can create similar options in the in-person classroom, especially if you collaborate with others in your building. [this bullet point updated 2023 to fix broken link]
• Create space but put boundaries around it. It can be extremely overwhelming for students to go to school and talk about a crisis non-stop for the entire day, and this is likely not helpful. Routines can be very grounding. One way to put boundaries around processing time: “We’re going to do ten minutes of quiet drawing, reading, or writing. You can choose to respond to the prompt on the board or do your own thing. Then we’ll have ten minutes of open conversation time. At the end of that, each of you will be able to choose: work on our ongoing class project, take some additional quiet reflection time, or join the processing group that’s in the library this block.” Time limits and choices can help create a predictability to the day, and give both you and your students a break.

Model not-knowing.

Our role in the classroom may be “teacher,” but that isn’t the same as “all-knowing being.” Especially after a crisis, in which there are usually many unknowns that aren’t resolved for days, weeks, or months. Position yourself alongside your students as a questioner, rather than positioning yourself as an arbiter or sage. One way to do this is generating questions together, using a structure like the question formulation technique or simple prompts like Tricia Ebarvia suggests: “ 1) What I know, 2) What I think I know, & 3) What I want to know.” With the generated questions, assess what needs to be answered now and what can be set aside for another day. 

• Questions about facts or misinformation on the crisis can be answered by looking at trustworthy sources together, modeling for students how to find reliable information and investigating rumors. 
• Questions about resources or mental health needs should be answered by connecting students to resources and validating. 
• With more complex questions, you can set them aside with a commitment to revisit: “this is such a great question and I am looking forward to exploring it. I don’t know about all of you, but I find it hard to think about big ideas when I’m still feeling anxious. I’m going to look at these questions in a couple of days and plan for how we can explore them as a class. If any of you would like to help me plan, let me know.”   

Be gentle with yourself

Finally, please remember that you are enough. There is immense pressure on educators to “get it right” when talking about hard topics. The moments after a crisis can feel like a fleeting opportunity, an open door through which you have to run at full speed. In reality, there is no room on the other side of that door containing perfect clarity, safety, or peace. Crisis and trauma fundamentally shift our relationship to the world, and unpacking that can take a lifetime. Just showing up for your students on day 1 is enough. Just holding space for them and letting them know you care is enough. You are enough. 

Deep gratitude to Dulce-Marie Flecha, Christie Nold and lizzie fortin for being thinking partners on this piece.

Over the past week, I facilitated four online workshops on trauma-informed practices  for hundreds of caring educators. I’ve also been talking to many more teachers on Twitter and in my messages, and texting with educator friends. I keep hearing over and over: “I want to focus on relationships, but I am getting mandates about academics from my principal.” “I want to slow down and take care of myself and my family, but the pace of work is unsustainable.” I’ve also heard from friends of mine who are parents about the unrealistic academic expectations sent home by teachers. 

We are in a crisis. Nothing is normal right now. It’s been about three weeks that we’ve all been at home so some things may start to feel routine, but routine does not mean normalcy. And we’re also only at the beginning of this crisis. More people are going to get sick. You will know people who will be hospitalized. You will probably know someone who dies. This will continue to be a crisis. 

In a crisis, we need to focus on community care. I know that teachers and school leaders are getting pressure to “keep teaching” right now. But the reality is that everyone is making things up as we go. State leaders, district leaders, and school leaders are making decisions with very limited time and limited information and resources. As Chris Lehmann writes so clearly, this means we need to just focus on making the least bad decisions. I said on Twitter recently that people feel like they aren’t doing things right or they aren’t doing enough. The truth is that right now there is no “right.” There is no “enough.” 

So how do we navigate this incredibly messy situation? What do we do when the mandates that come from above seem to be harmful and not helpful? 

Here’s what I want to say to all of us right now (and I’m saying this for myself to hear, too): speak up. 

Policies and procedures made in a crisis aren’t meant to last. But the practices that are being put into place for educators right now will last if we comply with them silently. If you don’t tell your principal or administrator that the policy isn’t working, they won’t know. If it seems to be “working,” it will stick. 

We know that learners need timely and relevant feedback on their work. School leaders are learners right now as they try to navigate this mess. You, as teachers and as parents, are the ones who need to provide the feedback. I know that a culture has developed in some schools where it’s not OK to give feedback to the top. Let go of that for now. Your leaders need to hear from you. 

The other thing I’d encourage folks to consider is to just…not participate in policies you know are harmful. John Warner wrote about this in his piece If It Doesn’t Make Sense, Refuse. Warner is writing from a higher ed perspective where the dynamics can be a little different, and I also acknowledge that power dynamics make the threat of job loss very real especially for teachers of color.

Beyond the immediate threat of losing your job, there’s also your emotional and spiritual energy to consider. Many teachers of color have carried the burden of providing feedback on equity for years. It must feel exhausting to face this situation and consider whether you can emotionally manage the toll of this, yet again. Your safety comes first and you know best whether you are in a position to make waves. 

With that in mind, I’d encourage people to consider, really consider, whether you’re letting yourself off the hook when you say “I can’t do anything about this mandate.” Are there are ways for you to be “creatively non-compliant” and push back? Is there collective action you can take with colleagues or other parents? If you’re in a union, unions were created for exactly situations like this. Use your collective power and refuse to do what’s harmful to your students.

If we don’t speak up and if we don’t push back, we pass along the harm to our students. For example, some are being asked to continue to give letter grades to their students right now. I don’t believe in letter grades anyway, but in the current situation it’s very clear that what you are grading is not academic achievement or effort, but access to resources and support, which kids have no control over. If we comply with a directive to give letter grades, we are directly harming kids by putting permanent marks into their transcripts that reflect nothing about them as a learner. Even if you didn’t come up with the directive, you are responsible for that.

If you are in a position to speak up

Compliance isn’t your only option. You can be creatively non-compliant in a way that Warner suggests by simply giving every student an A. If your school refuses to implement pass/fail grading, just do it yourself and give every student an A. You can refuse and just not enter grades – even better if you do this in coordination with colleagues and take it on as a collective action. And you can push back and send your school’s leaders feedback that helps them understand why the directive needs to change.

Here are some conversation openers you might use in offering pushback, where X is the harmful or unjust policy or practice:

• “I was surprised to see the email about X. It surprised me because I know that our school really values Y, and X policy doesn’t really align with that. Can you explain a little more of your thinking with this?”
• “I’m writing about X. I’m very concerned about how this is going to impact our students, particularly those without internet access or a safe place to do work at home. I think that for these students X could be harmful.”
• “Could we discuss X as a faculty? I know that the intent behind X was to promote Y and Z, but I thought you’d want to know that for me as a teacher, it feels unsustainable. I am worried about our ability to care for ourselves and our families if X continues.” 
• “I am writing to let you know that I cannot do X and in coordination with my grade-level team, we are going to do Y instead. Here’s why, and I would encourage a faculty-wide discussion about whether it makes sense for anyone to be doing X right now.” 

Also remember the humanity of the people to whom you’re giving feedback. Leaders are overwhelmed right now and doing their best to survive under immense pressure. We need each other’s grace and flexibility right now.

If you are in a position of leadership

I know you are doing the best you can. I know you are making the “least bad” decisions you can make right now. Let one of those decisions be to prioritize caring for your staff and listening to their feedback. I know from my own experience that as a school leader, you often hold context and information that leads you to decisions and it’s sometimes hard or impossible to fully communicate this context to your staff. You are under so much pressure and facing public critique for every move you make. It probably feels impossible.

At the same time, recognize that you have an incredible resource in your teachers. Help them step up and help you. Share with them the parameters of the problems you face and invite their problem solving. Be vulnerable about your uncertainties while you’re also being clear about your expectations. Here’s how that might look:

• “I am currently considering how to approach X and could use all of your input and help. The parameters I have gotten from the state include Y and Z. I’m also thinking about our budget and considering Q, R, and S.  Please let me know if you have creative ideas about X. I need to make a final decision by end of day tomorrow.”
• “For right now, we need to all be on the same page about X so I am asking all of you to do X. I know that this is problematic for Y and Z reasons. The reason I made this decision is that I need to prioritize Q and R in the next 3 days, but I promise to revisit X on Monday. Join me on a call at 2 on Monday and we’ll revisit X.”
• “Just a heads up that right now we have no policy for X but I know we need one. I am gathering examples to bring to the leadership team. If anyone has seen examples from other schools on social media of how they are approaching X, please drop them in this shared folder.”

When you invite feedback, remember that you need to be open to the responses. Thank your team for their ideas and suggestions, recognizing the potential risk that teachers are taking on by speaking up. If you feel reactive in the moment, remember to pause and not pass that reactivity along. Examine your own responses and ask yourself whether you see patterns in your responses to teachers based on racial identity or gender identity. Do your best to lift up the voices of marginalized people within your community, and prioritize the needs of your most vulnerable students and community members.

I also invite you to give yourself permission to slow down where you can. I know that in a crisis everything feels urgent. Use your team to help check yourself on whether there are things that can wait, priorities that can be revisited later, and opportunities to pause. Take breaks so that you can hear the feedback. I see you and I appreciate you. Keep fighting the good fight.

For everyone

There are two things that are both true right now. 

One: The most important thing is to take care of yourself and keep yourself safe and healthy. 

Two: The most important thing is to take care of one another and keep each other safe and healthy. 

These two truths come into conflict when taking care of others means draining ourselves. For teachers and parents (and really, everyone) who are running on fumes while trying to care for children, it can feel like way too much to then also think about creating conflict in your workplace. But if we hold both truths together, this conflict is part of how we demonstrate our care for students. Using our positions of power and influence in service of those more vulnerable is the ultimate act of community care.

I don’t pretend to know the answers to any of this, and like most of you, I am struggling to do what’s right by my students while also taking care of myself while also navigating the institutions I’m connected to. All I can say in closing is to repeat that there is no “right” and there is no “enough,” except that you, as a person, are enough. It’s okay to just focus on what you need to do to survive. Wishing you strength and with you in solidarity.

Registration is open for my spring online graduate course: Beyond the Buzzword: Deepening Knowledge & Practice of Trauma-Informed Education.

This class is designed for educators who already have a “trauma 101” level of understanding. Maybe you’ve been to a workshop, read a book, or browsed a few articles about trauma-informed education. This class is designed to help you dig deeper, both in understanding the research and concepts of trauma-informed practices as well as their practical application in your setting.

We’re going to dig into questions like…

• How do we balance individual interventions with systemic change?
• What can educators learn from the clinical research about trauma?
• What school structures and systems should we reconsider through a trauma-informed lens?
• How can we combat racism and other forms of oppression that cause trauma?
• What changes can I start making, today, in my role?

…and much, much more.

I offer this class 100% online on Canvas, with three Zoom video calls so we can make connections in real time. You can earn 3 graduate credits from Castleton University.

Please reach out if you have any questions, or follow the link above to register! We get started on February 3.

The snow is coming down outside in Vermont so I guess it’s officially winter! You may have noticed it’s been a little quiet on the blog lately. Here’s why: I’m currently working on my first book! I’m under contract with the fine folks at W.W. Norton and my book will be part of Paul Gorski’s Equity & Justice series. Due out in spring 2021, my book will focus on trauma-informed education through an equity lens. I am so excited about what I’m working on and can’t wait to share it with you all!

As you can imagine, I’m spending most of my writing energy on this project, so you can expect fewer blog posts over the next couple of months. That said, please stay in touch with me on Twitter @AlexSVenet as I’m doing plenty of tweeting in between writing sessions 🙂

I will also be reposting and sometimes expanding some work from the archies of my blog over the next couple of months. To start with, check out this 2016 piece on Rethinking Holidays in Schools. It’s a list of questions that would make a great discussion guide at your next faculty meeting to spark some critical thinking as we approach “holiday season.”

Be well and stay tuned for news and updates about the book, my spring online graduate course, and more! Thanks to everyone for your support!

Here are a few opportunities to learn with me this summer:

Graduate course in Vermont: Taking Care

I am co-teaching this course with a colleague who is an art therapist, and we’re focusing on wellness. It’s not just bubble baths and deep breaths; wellness is a commitment to caring for our full selves. This graduate course will explore both the theory and practice of wellness for educators. We’ll look at how you can maintain your own wellness, especially when facing challenges at work, but also how you can foster wellness in your students within your academic content area. We’ll have a two-day retreat-style face-to-face meeting in Winooski, VT in July, then online weeks, and a final wrap up day in August.

More information and registration here.

Mini-Course on pedagogy, vicarious trauma webinar, plus a book study

I’m facilitating these three online opportunities this summer:

Trauma-Conscious pedagogy and reflective practice mini-course 

Preventing and addressing vicarious trauma: webinar

Online book study: The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog

These pieces were formerly part of the Trauma-Conscious Teaching microcredential through Antioch. This the last time they’ll be offered through Antioch, as we’re phasing out the microcredential this fall. If you’re interested in taking any of these pieces but can’t join this summer, be in touch- they may be scheduled again later on as one-time workshops.

Late summer and fall professional development and consulting

I’m booking from August onward for professional development and consulting. See my services page and be in touch!

“When school shootings happen, why don’t we talk about it?”

This is a question posed by a student group working with Tom Rademacher. It stopped me in my tracks when I read it, in a photo posted by Tom of whiteboard notes from a student activist planning session.

The question, to me, is the whole ballgame of education. When our students want and need to talk about what’s important to them, do we show up? Do we create space? Do we set aside our lesson and just listen? Do we sit in the discomfort, because we serve our students, or do we avoid hard conversations in our own self-interest?

In the last few months, I’ve been thinking a lot about how our own fears as educators (and people) can drown out our ability to hear what our students are really saying.

In the aftermath of yet another school shooting, we expect that our students are going to be scared. We, as the adults, are also scared. Will I die today in this place? It’s a horrifying question to consider, yet we see images of the victims and can’t help but feel connected. I teach English, too. I would stand in front of my students, too. Our students see themselves: I would send that text. I would speak out if I survived. I would be terrified.

Yet, what do we do when our students see themselves reflected not in the victims, but in the shooters?

In my time teaching at a therapeutic school, many of my students were more likely to be categorized as bullies, not targets. Their “challenging behavior” was often what landed them at our school- or, their original school’s response to that behavior. Many of these students lacked coping skills and healthy boundaries. They struggled to form and sustain reciprocal relationships. Faced with trauma, poverty, mental health challenges, and a whole range of adverse experiences, these students were often in survival mode. Doing the best they could.

Survival mode isn’t inspirational. My students were often unkind. They made awful choices. They lied and lashed out and broke stuff. I cared deeply about every single one of them, even though it felt impossible sometimes. That was my job. I saw the magic in every one of them. Even when they were jerks.

I cared deeply about every one of them. And that care made it possible for me to hear them say “I am going to bring a gun to school” and really listen to what they meant.

As I write this, I feel the tension and I hear objections echoing. “We have to take all threats seriously.” Yes, I agree. “We can’t make excuses for these perpetrators’ behavior.” I agree.

And. Some of our students will read the news and identify with the shooter. They feel lonely and isolated. They feel powerless. They don’t have the skills to cope with the overwhelming feelings. They wonder, “If I did the worst possible thing in the world, would anyone still love me? Does anyone really care that much about me?”

So when a student who I care about says, “I want to bring a gun to school,” how should I respond?

“You can’t say that.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I need to call the administrator.”

“I need to call the police.”

Or should I say, “That sounds like a really intense feeling. Tell me more?” Should I say, “I really care about you and it makes my heart hurt to know that you are that angry. Let’s talk about it?” What would it look like to set aside my own fear and let myself empathize with a student who is empathizing with what I perceive as evil?

What would it look like to recognize the complexity of trauma and how victims so often become perpetrators? What would it look like to learn into that messiness and choose empathy instead of fear?

I wish I knew how to identify when a student is reaching out for help or when they have crossed over the point of no return. I wish I knew what the line was – when a student is speaking their truth and seeking connection, and when a student is sharing a murderous plan. I wish I knew how to prevent these atrocities. And I am not making a case against sharing information, reporting, or intervening.

But I’m wondering. When we talk about school shootings, can we be brave enough to recognize that some of our students identify with the shooter? And can we hold them in our care, our empathy, and our curiosity? Can we pull them closer into our community and say, “No matter what awful thing has crossed your mind, you still belong here”?

I don’t know the answers. But I am committed to wrestling with them until we find a better path forward. I am holding all of the victims, past and future, in my heart, and all of my magical, struggling students, too.